#patrick’s backseat

[sunsburns]

good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him. 

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis. 

Which he didn't. 

You let him win. 

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together. 

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise. 

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one. 

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right? 

Right? 

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief. 

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker. 

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you. 

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette. 

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips. 

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you. 

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art. 

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back. 

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you. 

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. 

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin. 

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past. 

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread. 

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room. 

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. 

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair. 

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see. 

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you. 

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath. 

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back. 

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head. 

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face. 

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly. 

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you. 

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips. 

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below. 

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes. 

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own. 

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache. 

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction. 

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake. 

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you." 

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips. 

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer. 

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop. 

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger. 

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch. 

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard. 

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. 

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man." 

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm. 

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

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[gladiatorcunt]

optimus prime….. mmmffhrgrhrhr 🥴😖😩

[justdontghostme]

bought a new camera, getting back into photography. i’m so proud of how these came out

[ervotica]

i just saw someone talk about pornstar!patrick and my third eye opened up

shut up i’ll die actually

warnings; smut, 18+, fem!reader, pornstar!patrick, p in v sex, allusions to reader being eaten out, patrick is hot <3

a/n; i’m insane for this actually. pls send more pornstar!patrick asks i’ll beg for them 🥹

this is him <3

thinking of a self made pornstar!patrick, started off making solo videos of him jerking off in the dirty backseat of his car. utterly surprised when viewers couldn’t get enough of him and he earned enough money to make a living off of making porn of himself.

he starts inviting other men, women - anyone who shows interest in him and his videos - to shoot with him, and soon he has a plethora of people lining up for a chance to fuck him, even if it’s on camera.

he bypasses the entire queue when he catches wind of you, a soft little thing with a mean streak he so desperately wants to explore, and he’s running straight to your messages to set a date.

he pays for your transport and your stay — a five star hotel that is far more expensive than anywhere you’ve been in your entire life.

it doesn’t feel orchestrated when the camera starts filming. it doesn’t feel like an act as he works you up with his hot breath over your cunt and two thick fingers that sink into your weeping hole. it doesn’t feel fake when you bury your fingers into his hair and tug, relishing in the way he moans and ruts his hips into the plush bed beneath you.

and it certainly doesn’t feel fake when he makes you cum harder than you ever have before.

his viewers all envy you, want to be you, when he folds your legs to your chest and feeds you his cock inch by inch. it’s a tight fit, that’s for sure, but you’ve never felt more full, more stretched in your life, and you fucking love it.

the way the head of his cock, a visceral red, notches against your entrance as he sinks in in in, further than you thought possible until the weeping slit burrows against your cervix, the way you keen and clutch at his shoulders as he murmurs praises because you’re being so good, baby, just a little more now.

he’s barely one thrust in before you’re cumming around him with a shudder and a cry, and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever felt in your life, so easy the way he takes you apart because he’s already memorised your cunt, already knows how to fuck it.

and he’s hooking his arms beneath the dip of your spine, dragging you up to meet his hot mouth in a greedy kiss, all tongues and teeth and fire and passion, and that paired with the way he’s fucking you - the filthy roll of his hips that never slows, never stops - is enough to have you cumming round him again.

he fucks like he’s in love with you and he hates you all at once, spears you open on his cock and keeps you spread out beneath him, teases and taunts until you growl with frustration and claw at him. it makes him laugh, a low, gravelly sound against your lips as he concedes and pistons his hips into you with more fervour than before.

once you’re well and truly fucked out, you crawl between his legs and wrap your mouth around him, and he’s sure he meets god.

and then the camera comes off, and a switch flips in him as he watches you laying on the bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed, a sleepy smile on your face.

patrick zweig might just be in love.

the video skyrockets in views and profits, climbing straight to the most popular he’s ever made. viewers beg him to keep you as a permanent fixture within his channel. and, well, who would he be if he didn’t give the people what they want?

-

challengers taglist; @diorrfairy @igotmajordaddyissues @xotwod-jade @imbabycowboy @cloudnitee @hobocatton

[wyniepooh]

Mess

patrick’s car was always in state of mess. the reason? probably you.

mdni; 18+. car action w patrick.

patrick’s car was a piece of junk. parts of the car seat were peeling, the windows forever had a sticky feeling about them, and the floor was often littered with fast food bags and cups.

and yet, you found yourself in the backseat of it, time and time again.

"your car smells like shit," you'd half-murmur to him, kicking away the various plastic containers with your feet as you attempted to crawl towards him. he'd sit back and watch you struggle for a second before dragging you onto his lap by the small of your back, strong arms wrapping around your waist and inhaling the sweet scent of your hair.

he'd grab your frantic wrists that are impulsively wiping down his dirty windows and hum a gentle 'shh' against your neck, whispering, "we're about to make it nastier anyways."

and you suppose he was right.

because once you were down on your knees and he was guiding your head towards him, once you were gagging and and forming a pool of saliva at the base of his cock, the sharp cups cutting into your skin no longer bothered you.

how could you even begin to care when you’re so focused on balancing yourself against the window as patrick drills into you from behind, a large hand on your lower stomach as he grunts, “you feel that? you feel me?”

You’d spit back at him, “you’re- you’re disgusting, patrick,” hand slipping from the condensation forming on the glass, your breath hitching as he grabs you up by the base of your neck and pulls your back towards his chest.

He pauses for a moment, and you take the time to catch your breath, body almost slumping over from exhaustion. You can feel the drum of his heart on your back, the scruff of his beard against your neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice as he mumbles, “you fucking love it.”

as he begins again from a new angle, a sharp yell escapes you, and you realize that you have no one else but yourself to blame for the mess in the car. the overwhelming pressure begins to build in your abdomen, and you mewl and thrash and bounce back against patrick, because there was no use in cleaning any of it anyways; after all, you’d just make another mess.

-

a/n: I rlly enjoy how we have all just accepted that patrick is a nasty fuck and that we all like it!

[zweiginator]

Matching with both Art and Patrick on a dating app and they both have different angles of taking you out.

Art messages you and says you’re beautiful, asks to take you out to mini golf after a casual dinner. Patrick has no filter—he doesn’t say anything bad, he just is outspoken about how hot he finds you. He takes you to a movie you both talked about seeing.

You were just dating around, trying to find someone that clicked. You didn’t know they were best friends until your friend invited you to a doubles match.

“What’s with the sudden interest in tennis?” You asked, taking a sip of your lemonade.

“These boys,” your friend ogled. “Are gorgeous.”

You saw Art first, waving to his friends while he stretched his hamstrings. Patrick was next, squirting Gatorade into his mouth and stretching his shoulders with his racket.

They both saw you in the crowd, sunglasses perched at the end of your nose while you applied your lip gloss. They both played their best, hoping to impress you. Neither of them noticed the other doing it, until they both found themselves wandering up to where you were sitting after the match, one leg perched on the metal bleacher on either side of you, their chests heaving, collarbones slick with sweat.

And then the simultaneous “How do you know her?”

You all get dinner afterwards; it’s odd how nonchalant they are about going on a date with the same girl. You figured you’d laugh about it and never see either one again. But just as they showboated on the court, they loved the competition of courting you, together.

Patrick was blunt on the way back to his summer house, you in the passenger seat, Art in the middle seat in the back, elbows resting on the center console.

“Who fucked you better?”

You gulped. You had only fucked Patrick. After the movie he set up a blanket in the back of his SUV and watched the stars with you, sharing the last of your popcorn and candy from the theater. He fucked you slow, holding your wrists above your head, your ankles wrapped around his waist. It was good sex, it came naturally.

Art was sweet. You knew he wanted to take a little longer. You kissed him on the cheek and blushed, holding the rose he had gotten you—just one so he wouldn’t come off too strong. But he would wait for you.

But, Art’s face dropped.

Patrick snorted. “Oh fuck, sorry.”

You shoved him. “You’re an asshole.”

“You fucked?” Art sat back, crossing his arms. His legs were cramped in the backseat.

“Maybe.” Patrick shrugged.

“Fuck off.” Art rolled his eyes. You liked this side of him. Pissed off, territorial, competitive.

“I can’t answer your question then, Patrick.”

Patrick put the car in park and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let Art fuck you and you can.” He said it so calmly, flashing you a smile as he opened the door.

You answered without thinking. “Okay.”

Art shook his head. “Don’t feel pressured to do that.”

“Pressured?” You looked up at him through your lashes and you swore you saw his knees buckle.

The living room was pristine; Patrick’s family had a cleaning service that came twice a week. Pillows on the couch were fluffed, fresh lines etched the carpet from the vacuum.

But Art grabbed your face, backing you into the couch, his cock pressing into you through his shorts. You took his hat off, throwing it on the ground as Art took your sneakers off. The moans he left in your mouth were pornographic as his fingers rubbed your clit through your panties. He was needy, obsessive. And you forgot Patrick was watching on the loveseat across from you, mouth agape.

Art pushed your underwear aside, one of his hands on the globe of your ass as he admired your pussy, all wet for him. He grinned at you while you pulled him in by his waistband, hungrily untying his shorts as he pushed them down his legs. His cock pushed into you slowly until Art hit the hilt, his hips stuttering against yours.

“Fuck,” He and Patrick said.

You took turns, looking at Art, looking at Patrick. Art ground his hips into you slowly until he became desperate, chasing his orgasm. Then he pounded you into the couch, his forehead pressed against yours, arms resting by your ears. You weren’t expecting this of Art—you weren’t expecting any of this.

“Tell me I fuck you better.” Art moaned into your ear, loud enough so only you could hear. Your hips bucked, legs shaking. He wanted so bad to win. To finally have something he excelled at over his best friend.

“God, Art, you fuck me so much better.” You said it loudly, looking at Patrick, whose legs were spread, cock straining against the shorts he still had on.

And you weren’t lying either.

[nottsangel]

thinking about patrick fucking me in the back of his car 😵‍💫😵‍💫

warnings: smut 18+, car sex, creampie

patrick always had trouble focusing when you wear those tight clothes for special occasions, perfectly hugging your body as if it was made just for you— especially tonight, when you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car and he has a perfect view of your cleavage with the black lace of your bra slightly poking out of your dress. he just had to pull over, as he was more focused on you than the road.

and that’s how you ended up in this position with your legs on his shoulders as he aggressively slams into you on the backseat of his car, your sweaty body sticking to the leather and your nails dragging down the fabric. “fuck, you’re such a tease” patrick groans, his hand squeezing and massaging your tits as sweat trickles down his temples. “i mean, how can i not fuck you when you’re wearing clothes like that?”

you can only moan in response as the tip of his cock repeatedly brushes against your g-spot, causing you to clutch his flexed arms next to your head. the car slightly shakes and the windows begin to fog up as the pleasure keeps building, your eyes slowly fluttering shut. “you feel so fucking tight” patrick growls as he moves his hand to your core, rubbing fast circles on your sensitive clit, intensifying the pleasure even more.

“oh my god, patrick!” you scream out, causing him to smirk as he gazes down at you, closely observing your facial expressions. “yeah? that feels good, baby?” you nod eagerly with your eyes shut and your mouth agape, melting under his touch. he brings his mouth to your neck and sloppily sucks on your skin, leaving hickeys everywhere.

“wanna feel you cum around my cock, baby.” he murmurs as his thrusts increase in pace, instantly sending you over the edge, making you see stars. his orgasm hits him simultaneously as he empties himself inside of you and paints your walls white, his hands gripping the backseat with all his might while grunting your name.

“that was— that was amazing, oh my god.” you exclaim, cupping his sweaty face with your clammy hands before kissing him as he rides out both your highs. you could hear his heart thumping in his chest as it heaves up and down, breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts. “fuck, i just can’t get enough of you. let’s go home for round two.”

ੈ♡˳

[zweigsangel]

illicit affairs. — patrick zweig.

warnings: smut, friends with benefits, p in v sex, rough sex, risk of getting caught, unprotected sex (don’t do this), mentions of being slightly drunk.

you knew that becoming friends with benefits with patrick zweig wouldn't lead to good consequences. except for the sex—that was perfect.

it had become a cycle that neither of you wanted to end, even if you both knew it probably should. the first time was really random. you were at a party, both tipsy from the alcohol. you were literally eye-fucking each other, and it didn't take long before you found yourselves in the backseat of his car, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you. the sound of your moans and of your skins slapping together fogged up the windows. and god, it was the best sex of your life. the kind that would leave you breathless, with your body trembling. it was like his cock was made to be inside you, hitting all the right spots, while your pussy clenched around him perfectly, as if your bodies were designed to fit together like this.

and so, you decided to do it again. and again, and again. no feelings involved. just the physical connection that neither of you could resist. at your place, at his, on the bed, the couch, in the car. it didn’t really matter where you were. as long as you could feel him inside you, as long as you could hear his breath hitch with every thrust, that was enough. sometimes it was rushed, a frantic need that couldn’t wait—clothes half-off, bodies colliding in the nearest available space. other times, it was slower, drawn out, teasing each other until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the desire was too overwhelming to deny.

you would find yourselves in the most unexpected places, whether it was against a wall or a door, your back arching as he pushed into you, or on the kitchen table, dishes shoved aside as he spread your legs wide, nothing else mattered.

and then,

“i'm in a relationship.” your eyebrows lifted in shock and your lips parted slightly at his words, letting out a small, involuntary breath. “wow, i’m happy for you, patrick. i mean, we can still be friends, right? you managed to say. it was true—you were genuinely happy for him, even if the thought of him with someone else felt a little odd.

he paused for a moment, letting your words settle in the space between you. then, shaking his head slowly, he said, “no, no, no. i want to continue... what we have, you and i.”

your head tilted to the side, your brows knitting together in confusion. “what? you’re in a relationship, patrick. now you can fuck your girlfriend,” you replied, a soft, playful laugh escaping your lips. but he didn’t laugh. instead, a familiar smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, that smirk of his that always sent a shiver down your spine.

“you don’t understand…’ he began, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper as he stepped closer, closing the gap between you two. he had to bend down slightly to be at eye level with you, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “no pussy feels like yours. none.”

his breath was warm against your skin as he spoke. you didn’t say a word, your gaze locked with his, as your body reacted instinctively to his nearness, your panties getting incredibly wet. and he knew, of course he knew. he knew your body better than anyone else.

and so it continued between the two of you. you knew it was wrong. hell, it was. but you couldn’t help it. the way he made you feel— the way his cock filled you, stretched you, consumed you— it was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, something you craved even as guilt gnawed at you. he’d act all sweet with his girlfriend just to fuck you afterwards. you both knew you were crossing a line, yet it felt impossible to turn back.

“‘come over. right now,’ he said over the phone one day, abruptly hanging up. you were left confused; his tone was sharp and angry.

when you arrived, there was no time to say anything before he slammed the door behind you. he grabbed you roughly and dragged you toward the couch, forcing you to lie down. his movements were quick and forceful as he pulled down your pants and panties. you helped by kicking them off onto the floor. he then quickly lowered his own pants and boxers, freeing his throbbing cock.

he positioned himself over you. “patrick, what the—oh fuck,” you gasped as he thrusted into you with no forewarning or preparation. your head fell back onto the couch and your back arched. “that bitch,” he murmured as he slid in and out of your tight pussy.

you tried to speak, to ask what was going on, but you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. your mouth hung open as loud, pornographic moans escaped you.

then, his phone began to ring. at first, patrick barely seemed to notice, his focus entirely on the intensity of the moment. but as his eyes glanced to the screen, he grabbed the phone and answered. your tear-filled eyes widened. what the fuck was he doing?

“hi baby,” came a voice from the other end of the line. his girlfriend. patrick, however, appeared calm, a faint smirk curling his lips as he used his free hand to cover your mouth, muffling the desperate whimpers escaping your lips. his thrusts slowed just a bit but did not cease.

“sorry about earlier,” the voice continued. “it’s fine, don’t worry,” patrick responded, his voice low and rough as he panted. “everything alright?” his girlfriend asked, clearly noticing the background noises. beneath him, you squirmed, tears streaking down your face while his gaze remained locked on you, watching your muffled moans vibrate against his hand.

“yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, baby. just a bit busy right now. i’ll call you back later.” he then ended the call, letting the phone fall onto the couch beside him. he pulled his hand away from your mouth, and a loud moan escaped you as he resumed thrusting into you with increased urgency.

“good girl,” he whispered, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. you were nearing climax, your walls tightening around him, making him groan with pleasure. “cum f’me.” your nails clawed at his back, and your body arched as you reached your orgasm. patrick was close too, his movements growing more frantic.

“i’m cumming inside, ‘kay?” he whispered into your ear, his tongue tracing along your jaw and sliding to your neck, his breath coming in heavy gasps. before you could even nod, he moaned deeply, his thrusts halting as he filled you up completely.

you stayed like that for a moment, trying to steady your breaths. “shit, ‘m sorry,” he murmured after a while, lifting his head from the crook of your neck to meet your gaze, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “it’s okay,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his tousled curls. in that instant,

you couldn’t help but think how cute he looked, as his big blue eyes locked on you with intensity and he was propped on top of you with a careful balance, just enough to be close but not to press too hard.

and you knew you were completely screwed.

[angelbowerz]

Bowers gang asking you out/you asking them out

Henry

-if you asked him out...it would be a no, he would be inlove with you and still say no

"Hey Henry"

"What"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to go out some time?"

*gives you a blank stare* "...no"

-he'd wanna say yes but if he said yes to a someone asking him out...his ego would be down a notch

-I mean come on...how DARE you ask the MAN out 🙄

-but a few hours later you're getting books out of your locker and here he comes

"Wanna be my girlfriend or something"

"But I just-"

"I'M ASKING NOW! yes or no"

"Okay sure, I'll be your girlfriend"

"After school we're going to the woods to bang, see ya"

*before you could respond he walks away*

-let's face it..Henry doesn't do dates, he finds them too romantic and cheesy

-you'll obviously hang together but he wouldn't class it as 'dates'...just 'hanging time'

-romantic rating 2/10 😭

Belch

-he would be WAY too scared to ask you out.. poor reggie

-buuut..if you asked him out....

"Hey reggie, I was wondering if-"

"YES"

-you just made him the happiest person alive

-but on the actual day of the date he is PANICKING

-he is so nervous...what If you aren't enjoying it? What if something bad happens?

-what's his solution? TAKE EVERYTHING AND PUT IT IN HIS BACKSEAT

-he has blankets...food..drink...everything

-when he drives to pick you up...omg he is a sweetheart

-waits outside with a bouquet of roses

-treats you like the only person in the world

-drives you to a secluded place and stargazes with you

-the perfect date..literally something out of a movie

-drives you home then calls you later tonight and checks in on you

-romantic rating 100/10!!!!

Patrick

-he wouldn't exactly ask you out but...

-he'll stalk you, wait for the right moment and then just walks alongside you all day

-you won't realise it's a date until he mentions that halfway through

"This date is going great right?"

"Wait wha-"

-he'll walk you home...well follow you home expecting you to invite him inside

-if you don't? That's fine, he'll just climb in while you're sleeping

-he'll either walk through the door or climb through your window

-he'll get in the bed with you...to watch you, not to sleep

-when he notices you start slowly waking up..he'll wait until you look at him then he very slowly turns his head...with the most scary smile you have ever seen

-when you scream..he just laughs...so much

-if you ask him out though...oh god...you're in for a night of torture

"Hey Patrick...I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime"

*does THAT smile* "oh I would love to..."

-it won't be cute...oh no no no

-he'll take you out to the movies, not to watch a romantic movie

-Patrick will do his research to find the most scary horror movie playing right now

-if you think he's taking you there so you'd cuddle into him....ahahaha aren't you delusional

-he'll laugh his head off when he sees you scared, pure happiness

-if you try covering your face, he'll take his hands, place them on your head and will force you to watch that movie

-After it ends..he'll still scare you in ways (making you jump etc)

-if you're in the right state of mind, you wouldn't go near him again...but if you're THAT crazy over him...goodluck

-romantic rating -10/10

Victor

-if you ask him out infront of the gang, he'd say no just because he wants to act 'cool' in front of the guys

-but when he's alone he'll come upto you and say he actually will go out with you and apologises

-probably had no clue where to take you so you two just end up in a park talking all night

-I feel like he would be very awkward at first but after awhile he'll loosen up and be really cool

-when you two get tired of talking, you'll just end up making out lol

-he'll walk you home of course

-romantic rating 6/10

[sunsburns]

need tashi making making me take the strap while art and patrick are above me

bruh and i know her strap is fucking big too. like just imagine her behind you, hands on your ass and hips, a tight grip as she tugs you closer, pushing her strap into you. and you're wincing into the sheets, salty tears in your eyes at the stretch as she goes in real slow and surprisingly gentle while you tremble under her.

“‘m almost in, baby,” she mutters under her breath, humming softly. at the same time, art kisses her neck, leaving bruises in his wake. “c’mon, i know you can take it.” tashi continues to push the tip of the silicone into your hole while patrick runs his fingers up and down your spine, grinning at the way you shudder at his touch.

it’s only after a few more gentle strokes that she finally pushes the whole thing in and she’s fucking you relentlessly; a little rougher than art, a lot more gentle than patrick. she watches the way her cock sinks in and out of you, relishing the moans and whines you make. “look at you,” she mewls, “taking it like a good girl...”

when art leaves tashi’s side, it’s to go to you, to kiss your ass, then up your back, momentarily stopping to suck on patrick’s fingers before he tangles his hands into your hair to pull your head up from the pillows. your mouth hangs open, breathless sighs escaping your lips before he starts to kiss you, tongue, teeth and spit.

you only stop when you feel patrick start to rub at your sensitive clit while tashi speeds up. art continues to eat up every single moan you let out, running his tongue over your own, his free hand reaching down to toy with your perked nipples, fighting back his urge to suck on them.

when you cum, unravelling under their touch, tashi doesn’t top. her grip grows tighter at her hips, and if she’s feeling cheeky she'd slap your ass with her cock still deep inside you. you moan her name and she licks her lips, “you've been so good, can you give me another? i know you can.”

[fruitjoos]

i choose you

Part I | Part II

babydaddy!art x boyfriend!patrick x reader

summary: you and art had a baby right after college, but you were both so young and had different goals, so you split. despite the separation, you co-parented well and moved on. then you met patrick, who brought a new light into your life and made you feel like yourself again. time moved quickly, and patrick wants to meet your daughter. When art and patrick finally come face to face, it stirs up old feelings and challenges. now, you’re left questioning whether you’re as strong as you believed.

warnings pregnancy talk

It was one of those warm summer nights that should have felt serene, yet the air thrummed with a tension you couldn't shake. You stood at the edge of the driveway, arms crossed, watching as Art pulled up, your daughter in the backseat. Your pulse faltered the moment he stepped out of the car. He looked exactly the same as he always had—composed, familiar, and infuriatingly steady.

This wasn’t where you thought you’d be at 25. Pregnant before you were ready, tied to a man you still loved but couldn’t seem to build a future with. You and Art had tried. When your daughter was born, you both clung to the dream of a family, thinking love would somehow mend the cracks. But love wasn’t enough. The breakup wasn’t explosive; it was the kind that left loose ends—unanswered questions and words left unsaid.

A year after the split, you met Patrick. He was different, uncomplicated. He brought laughter back into your life when you’d forgotten how to even smile. With him, life felt lighter, easier. After a year of dating, it seemed to be getting serious. He asked to meet your daughter, and for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like the natural next step.

But Art lingered, a shadow over everything.

As you walked the pavement, Patrick trailing behind you, you hadn’t expected the world to tilt. Art was helping your daughter out of the car when he turned toward the house, his eyes instantly locking onto Patrick. For a moment, time stalled.

Patrick froze, his easygoing smile flickering into something softer, uncertain. His lips parted in surprise, a flicker of relief crossing his face, as if seeing Art was a dreaded confrontation he was somehow relieved to face. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and in that brief exchange, a faint echo of the friendship they once shared surfaced, a time before everything went wrong.

"Art?" Patrick’s voice was low, tentative, as if he were testing the weight of the name in the air. No anger, just surprise, perhaps even a hint of warmth.

Art’s reaction, though, was colder. His expression hardened, eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Patrick. The sight of Patrick standing there, next to you, stirred something deep and bitter inside him. The last time they’d seen each other, their friendship had crumbled, leaving only unresolved tension in its wake. And now Patrick was here, comfortable, a part of the life Art had once imagined for himself.

“Patrick,” Art muttered, his voice as cool as his gaze. He couldn’t hide the jealousy that bubbled beneath the surface. His hand tightened slightly on your daughter’s shoulder as his eyes flicked over the scene before him. Patrick, beside you, looking like he belonged. Art’s jaw clenched. Patrick wasn’t supposed to be in the picture, but there he stood, like a ghost from the past Art hadn’t wanted to face.

You stood between them, feeling the tension thickening. You glanced between Patrick’s softened expression and Art’s tightened jaw, confusion swirling inside you.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Your voice broke the silence, a strained attempt to defuse the mounting tension.

Patrick gave a small, uneasy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

Art’s eyes flicked to you, sharp, unreadable. "We used to." His tone was cool, laced with an unmistakable edge.

You walked toward him, your nerves fluttering. "Be nice," you whispered, locking eyes with him, the intensity between you a little too familiar. "Patrick’s a good guy. I really like him."

Art raised an eyebrow, smirking in that cynical way you knew too well. "I’m always nice."

You shot him a look, exasperated. "I’m serious. Please, don’t do this."

But there was something in his gaze that told you it was already too late.

Dinner began smoothly enough, or so you thought. Patrick was his usual charming self, effortlessly making your daughter giggle. But Art was watching, his eyes narrowing at every laugh, his mouth tightening when your daughter leaned into Patrick, laughing at his impressions.

Then it started—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. Art casually questioned Patrick’s job, poking at his easygoing attitude. The comments grew sharper, until finally, Art set his fork down and said, "You don’t seem like the marrying type. Too... temporary."

Patrick tried to brush it off with a chuckle, but you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his grip on his wine glass tightened.

Art didn’t stop. "Let’s be real. This isn’t going anywhere long-term. We have a child together, that’s forever. You and me? We’re family. Things always come full circle."

Your stomach dropped. The room fell into an awkward silence as Patrick’s smile disappeared. You glared at Art, but he just leaned back, clearly satisfied with himself.

The rest of the evening dragged on, the atmosphere thick with silent resentment. By the time Art left, your daughter tucked away in bed, Patrick had gone quiet. He stood in the kitchen doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the floor.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"Do you want to marry me?" His voice was tight, catching you off guard. His eyes searched yours, filled with a doubt you hadn’t seen before. "You talked about marriage with Art... but you’ve never even mentioned it with me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued.

"And kids... Do you want more? With me? Or is that off the table because Art’s already in the picture?"

"Patrick, no..." You sighed, running a hand over your hair. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked, the frustration spilling over. "Because right now, it feels like I’m competing with him. Like no matter what I do, he’ll always be part of your life. Your real life."

Your heart clenched at his words, guilt gnawing at you. "This isn’t about you," you said softly. "It’s not about choosing him over you, or whatever contest you think he’s trying to win. I just... I can’t pretend Art doesn’t exist. He’s my daughter’s father, and that’s never going to change."

Patrick’s face softened, but the hurt lingered in his eyes. "I just don’t know if I can keep feeling like the second choice."

Your chest tightened. "Patrick, you’re not the second choice. You’ve brought light back into my life. Something I didn’t even realize I needed." You took his hand, but he hesitated. "I’m still figuring this out, and I can’t rush into anything. Not after everything that’s happened. Not when I’m still trying to be the best mother I can be."

Patrick exhaled slowly, his shoulders loosening as he pulled you into his arms. "Okay," he whispered, his voice warm against your hair. "No rush. Just us."

But the unease lingered in the days that followed. It seemed as though the tension had lifted, but beneath Patrick’s lighthearted demeanor, something deeper simmered.

One evening, as you sat on the couch after your daughter had gone to nap, Patrick’s voice broke the quiet.

"I know you need time," he said softly, his eyes serious, "but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still competing with him." He looked down at his hands. "Hearing Art talk about how you two are a family... it got to me. Maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. I see the way he looks at you, and I just—" He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough."

Your heart twisted at his words. "Patrick, you are enough," you insisted, your voice strong. "What Art said…that was him trying to get to you. He knows how to push buttons, but it doesn’t mean anything. What matters is us."

Patrick sighed, his voice small. "But what if he’s right? What if, in the end, you and Art end up back together? You have a child with him. That’s a bond I’ll never have."

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands. "Art and I are over. Yes, we have a child together, and that will always connect us. But that’s all it is. I’m with you now. I chose you."

Patrick’s eyes softened as he exhaled shakily. "I just needed to hear that."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Let’s move on together. No more worrying about Art. No more doubts. Just us."

And for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. Despite the history with Art, you were choosing a future with Patrick. And for now, that was enough.

It was well past midnight when your phone lit up beside your bed, casting a soft glow over the room. You squinted at the screen, heart sinking slightly when you saw the name: Art.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the message. Patrick was fast asleep beside you, his breath steady and calm and oblivious.

Are you up? Can we talk?

Your pulse quickened. It wasn’t like him to text this late. You thought about ignoring it, but something in the pit of your stomach told you that if you didn’t respond, he’d show up at your door. And besides, you were already awake, thoughts of Patrick’s earlier words still gnawing at you.

Yeah, I’m up. What’s going on?

The reply was instant.

I need to see you.

Slipping out of bed quietly, you tiptoed into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You didn’t know what to expect, but there was an uneasy feeling in your chest. After a few minutes, your phone buzzed again.

I’m outside.

You stood and crossed the room, pulling the curtain aside just enough to see his car parked out front. A sigh escaped your lips as you opened the door, stepping into the cool night air. Art was leaning against his car, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. His eyes found yours immediately, a mixture of desperation and some other odd, unreadable emotion flickering in their depths.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the chill, though you knew the cold had nothing to do with the sudden shiver running through you.

He exhaled heavily, pushing off the car and stepping closer. “I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. About our daughter.” His voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t slept in days. “This isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

You swallowed, unsure of where he was going with this, but the unease in your chest only grew. “Art, it’s late. If this is about something with our daughter—”

“It’s not just about her,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair, his movements agitated. “It’s about us. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. How we were. What we had.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “Art...”

He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel like the ground beneath you was shifting. “We’re supposed to be together. A family. I don’t care what happened between us in the past. I still love you. I never stopped.”

Your heart stuttered, confusion swirling in your mind. “You can’t just say things like that. We’ve both moved on. You know that.”

“Have we?” he shot back, voice sharp. “You can sit there and tell me you don’t feel anything when you see me? When we’re around each other?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got caught in your throat because the truth was more complicated than you wanted to admit. There was always a pull with Art, always a part of you that couldn’t forget what you had shared. What you had lost.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Well, I do,” he said, stepping closer still, his voice urgent. “You and I have a daughter together. We are bound for life, whether we like it or not. And that means something. We’re a family. We should be together. Not... not split up. Not dragging other people into our mess.”

You froze, your mind immediately jumping to Patrick. “What are you trying to say, Art?”

He sighed, frustration coloring his features. “Patrick isn’t part of this. He’s an outsider. I don’t care how much fun he is or how good he makes you feel. He doesn’t belong in this, with our family.”

Anger flared inside you, but you bit it back, refusing to raise your voice in the middle of the night. “Art, you don’t get to make that call. Patrick has been there for me in ways you haven’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Because you never gave me the chance. You shut me out. We broke up, and suddenly, you’re with him. What about us? What about trying to make this work for the sake of our daughter?”

“We tried,” you reminded him, your voice wavering. “We tried to make it work, and it didn’t. We hurt each other, Art. You know that.”

His hand reached out, gently brushing your arm, the touch so familiar it sent a shiver down your spine. “But we can try again. We should try again. For her. Don’t you see? A family is supposed to be together. Not fractured. Not pulled in different directions.” His eyes searched yours, the desperation there making your heart twist. “We owe it to her to give this another shot. To be a real family.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. A part of you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that it could be as simple as that. Trying again, picking up the pieces, and finding a way back to each other. But the other part of you, the part that had spent months rebuilding your life, knew it wasn’t that simple.

“And what about Patrick?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “He’s been good to me. To her. I can’t just throw him away because you suddenly decide you want us back.”

Art’s expression darkened slightly, his voice dropping. “He’s not part of this equation. You and I are the only ones who matter here. We have history. A family. He’ll never understand that the way I do. He’ll always be on the outside looking in. Can you really see a future with him, knowing that I’m always going to be there? Always going to be a part of your life?”

You bit your lip, your mind spinning. He was right about one thing. Art would always be there. He wasn’t someone you could just forget, or leave in the past. And that had always been the hardest part of trying to move on.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you whispered.

“And I don’t want to hurt you,” Art said softly, stepping even closer, his voice low and persuasive. “I just want us to be a family. A real family, without anyone else getting in the way.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm, and for a moment, you felt yourself falter. You thought of your daughter, of the life you had once imagined with Art, the life that had slipped through your fingers. Could you really just let that go? Could you really keep pretending that Patrick was enough when this was the man you had once built your world around?

“We can do this,” Art murmured, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “We can make this work, I know we can. Just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

Your heart ached, torn between the weight of your past and the uncertainty of your future. And in that moment, standing in the stillness of the night with Art’s hand on your cheek, you didn’t know what to believe anymore.

[parkerluvsu]

the song “diet pepsi” by addison rae is lowkey my guilty pleasure 😔 but maybe you can write something with art inspired by the lyrics :3

“when we drive in your car, i’m your baby/ losing all my innocence in the backseat”

diet pepsi (art donaldson x fem! reader)

my boys a winner, he loves the game/my lips reflect off his cross-gold chain

youre not ashamed, you know art can see you leaning forward in your seat, even wearing sunglasses he can tell that your eyes linger on his v-line when he lifts up his shirt to wipe his face. he doesn't mind it though, how could he complain about his gorgeous girlfriend oogling him from the stands. arts head always whips toward you when he wins, looking for a wide smile on your face. the moment he steps off the court you're jumping into his arms, letting him twirl you around and kiss you passionately, letting the adrenaline do the talking for him.

i like the way he's telling me/my ass looks good in these ripped blue jeans

arts a sucker for you. if anyone asked him what his weakness is he'd respond quickly with "my girlfriend". you always have to hold back your giggles when his mouth drops open as you step out of your apartment for your date, the fabric of your blue jeans hugging your curves just right. he snaps out of his stupor to open the car door for you, placing his usual hand on your thigh as he drives. before you enter the restaurant he'd chosen for your date, he leans down to whisper in your ear " your ass looks good in those jeans"

my cheeks are red like berries in spring/bodies a work of art you'd diet to see

you blush, your face heating up as you sit down at your table for dinner, the red of your cheeks visible even in the low light of the restaurant. art almost doesn't even have the mental capacity to order food, his eyes stuck on the way your skin glimmers from the candlelight, longing to reach out and touch you.

untouched, xo/young lust, lets- (ah)

most people would make fun of art for how hard he's fallen for you, saying that he doesn't know what love is, he's only in his first year of college, but he disagrees, the love he feels for you rivals anything he's ever seen in a romance movie. you bring him back to reality by holding his hand over the table, squeezing it lightly. "you wanna get out of here?" art asks, and you giggle, sensing his eagerness to be near you once again, not seperated by a stupid dinner table. art pays for the meal, leading you out of the restaurant with a hand on the small of your back.

when we drive in your car, im your baby (so sweet)/losing all my innocence in the backseat

the parking lot is empty when you get there, thank goodness, although you doubt that anyone could see in through the foggy windows, but they could probably tell what was going on by the rocking of the car. arts hips pressed against yours, his feet planted on the floor of the car, balancing you on his lap. his slender fingers hiking up your dress, the warm palms of his hands pressed against your hips, almost as warm and comforting as his lips on yours. your head tips back onto the headrest, allowing him access to the panes of your neck, the soft skin making him lick his lips in anticipation. he hopes the marks he leaves behind will stay, scaring off admirers so he can keep you all to himself. art almost feels bad, seeing you squeeze your eyes closed in pain when he presses the flared tip of his cock into you. the way you always have a hard time taking him makes him feel like his taking your innocence, like your body is trying to stay pure. nevertheless, he's in love with you, and the way you always suck him right inside, squeezing so tight that it's hard for him to pull out. he's so sweet though, rocking your hips for you, cooing sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you that no ones gonna see you, the parking lots empty. art would never admit it to himself, he's not a slut like patrick, but he can't deny the twitch of his cock when he thinks that anyone could find you here, and figure out what he was doing, the cute tennis player, always lagging behind his friends and not speaking unless spoken to, is fucking his girlfriend in the backseat of his jeep. when art cums, he makes sure that you pull your panties up right away, "i want to keep being inside you" he says, as if he could feel your pussy while not being inside you, just because his cum is there. when he drops you off at your place, he takes great pride in seeing a drop of white running between your thighs.. maybe he's more like patrick than he thought.. <3

[poppy-metal]

toxic fwb patrick running back as soon as he sees your stupid soft lauch instagram story. the coffee shop with two lattes on the table? you're not fucking slick. he's in your inbox like, ten minutes after it goes up: "hope thats for me."

and its not, but the lacy little set you wear under your clothes is - the red ones, his favourites - when you go to meet him. it was supposed to be innocent, obviously. the guise, thinly veiled, of going to pick up a shirt you left there. as if you guys dont leave your shit with each other all the time as an excuse, as if he didn’t hide this one in the back of his closet to use as leverage later. you both know why you're there.

he doesn't bother taking you anywhere, he fucks you right there in his backseat in the first empty parking lot he drives across. the set drives him nuts, obviously. "god, you whore, you fucking wanted this, you dirty bitch--" and he's slamming into you so hard you're crying ("it hurts so fuckin good, don't stop") you barely even notice he pulls out his phone. "tell me how good it feels" "so good, so good, god--" when you see it, you scramble. evidence. try to put your hand over the lens. but he just 'tsk's at you, holds it higher above his head. "play nice, baby, you wouldn’t want him to see how well you take my fat dick, would you? no, you don't. so take it like a good girl and tell me why you're here, instead of with him." you think he's just talking to talk at first, but then he slaps your ass, hard. "im not fucking kidding. tell me. tell me why you're here, and not at home with whatever the fuck his name is." you're crying. you don't mind. his hand goes to circle your clit - puffy, overstimulated, you've already cum on his face once because your man doesn't eat you out - and you cum on him while you answer. "'cause you fuck me better," you whine. "fuck me so good, you're the only one who fucks me like this--"

he cums inside. makes you thank him for it. takes a nice video of it dripping out of your swollen cunt.

kit I honestly can't go on like this <//////3

need him angling the camera under your pussy so the view is so lewd - just him sliding in and out of your swollen cunt - your lips flared wide around his thickness - everytime his balls rest snug against your cunt when he slams home. the creamy residue building around the base of his dick as you get wetter and wetter. makes you say the dirtiest things, things you'd literally never utter to your boyfriend in his wildest dreams.

your voice a high trill whenever patrick demands something from you - "tell me how good this dick is -"

"so good! it's so good, daddy oh my god - you're so fucking big in my little pussy - fuck, fuck - fuck me just like that, just like that - you're so good - fuck, I love it, I love it, I love it -"

and "who owns this pussy, huh? who makes this pussy cum?"

"you - "

"say my fucking name -"

"patrick! patrick - o - owns my fucking pussy - o - oohhhhhh fuck - you own it, s'yours, s'all your pussy daddy, all your fucking pussy. fuck me, fuck me, fuck me with that big dick yeah - please - uh, uh, uh, uh, -"

when your pulling your panties back up your trembling thighs, his cum still fresh and dripping from your swollen pounded cunt, you bite your lip nervously.

"you're not going to send that to anyone are you?"

patrick grins. pops a piece of gum in his mouth as he starts the car - "nah. it's for me to send to you next time you tell me you never wanna see me again."

[kafka-ish]

Patrick is totally the first guy you fall in love with when you’re sixteen and it’s totally cliche. You do all types of stupid things you’ve seen in movies. Making lists of the things you want to do together. Making out in the backseat of his parents car in an empty parking lot at midnight. Discovering each other’s bodies and making each other cum for the first time. Patrick, like Art said, was an early bloomer. Maybe he fingered his ex girlfriends he had prior, had heavy makeout sessions with them that ended in head, but you’re each other’s firsts.

You and Patrick don’t expect to get this far but once your relationship hits the five month mark you realize it’s the longest you’ve been with someone.

Patrick’s enthralled. Can’t believe you put up with him, petty fights and all. His kiss good-byes become longer, sloppier; he wants this to last forever. It hurts when you leave and he knows it’ll hurt even more when you eventually come to your senses and call the whole thing off. Sorry I can’t do this anymore. He’d do anything to keep that from happening.

Patrick gets soooo jealous once he starts to take your relationship seriously and he doesn’t even realize it. Why were you talking to him? You know if you need help on the homework you can just ask me. / What do you mean you’re going to the movies with your family? …Well can I come? Your dad loves me! He’s in your room one day, talking to your stuffed animals and going through your photos. You’re doing your homework until he comes up to you, asking who this guy is standing next to you. It’s your fucking cousin. “Well, why is he dressed up so nice? And why is his arm around you? Kinda weird if you ask me.”

“Because it’s a wedding, Patrick.”

Patrick sighs, head dropping to his chest, flopping onto your bed. You’re a good one and he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. “Hey.”

Immediately, Patrick’s sitting up again. Eyes on you and he wants this to be his view every goddamn second of the day for the rest of his life.

“Somethings up. What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. Seriously, what’s wrong.” You stand up, make your way across the room to him. Take his hands in yours and play with his fingers. He loves that shit. And he doesn’t know how to express himself other than pulling you into him, pressing a big kiss onto your lips. It’s passionate and wet and takes you by surprise and it’s all Patrick Zweig. You’re breathless, gasping, and you need to pull away, just for a second. But that’s too long for Patrick so he opts for your neck, your cheek, your collarbone, anything. He needs to feel your skin on his lips. He needs to show you you’re his.

He’s downright devouring you. Pouring his heart and soul into sucking on your clavicle, nipping at your neck, licking your ear while your hands are still holding his, fingers intertwined like high school kids. Eager, aren’t you? He brings you down with him, flush against your sheets—you on top. It’s like a sandwich. Him underneath his favorite person, crushed against the duvet you sleep in and your velvety skin.

This time you’re the one to kiss him and he’s so touched. Touched from the way you moan in his mouth, the way you still hold his hand, the way you cup his jaw and grind into his pants. Fuck.

He whines at the contact. He whines at the fact that you’re on top. Whines at the sight of your pretty face and how it scrunches when you rub your clothed clit against his dick. Whines because this is the farthest you’ve gone in your bed and he can stretch out his legs. This is so much better than making out in his mom’s mazda, he thinks.

“Need you.”

“Mmm.”

“Patrick,” you say, panting, in between kisses, “please.”

He releases his hands from your grasp, opting for your hips instead. His grip is delicious, guiding you on his denim covered dick, fingers digging into your skin, pressing you into him. You feel his erection and all you can think about is taking him in your mouth, hands in your hair, saying good girl. But before you can unbutton his jeans he’s taking the lead, switching positions. Now you’re under him while he’s leaving a trail of open mouth kisses over your body, slipping off your tank so he can reach your breast. And he’s in awe at the full expanse of your chest. He relishes the moment. Wants to snap a photo and make you his lockscreen. Wants to rip off your shorts along with your panties. Eat you out and crawl inside you and eat your insides too. But he takes it slow. Sucks hickeys on your hipbone. Plays with your clit over your underwear and you’re so sensitive. The scratch of the lace and the pads of his calloused fingers feels euphoric. This is happiness.

"God you're wet." And you can't help but giggle. Fucking giggle even though your boyfriend's about to go down on you. Your thighs frame his face and every time his breath hitches the warmth of it hits your clit. You take his hand in yours again and he squeezes it while his tongue laps up into your swollen cunt. Yeah, this is way better than making out in his mom's mazda.

And if Patrick could think right now, he'd think this was heaven. Maybe we don't go anywhere after death and this is it. He wants to stay here forever, buried in your pussy for hours.

His tongue fucks your cunt, taking care of it with utter precision, getting a taste of every crevice, giving you his ultimate devotion. He's egging you on for a second orgasm until you pull him up by his curls and smash his lips into yours. He knows you can taste yourself and he groans. You pull away. Replace your lips with the fingers you've been massaging his scalp with. Finger the tongue that's been playing in your pussy.

"Patrick..."

"Mmhm"

"I want to lose my virginity to you." He can't tell if you mean it or you're just saying that, caught up in the moment.

"You sure about that babe?"

"Patrick, please." You're whining and he's never seen you this needy.

"Shit, yeah f'course princess. You got a condom?"

You shake your head bashfully. "No. But it's okay. Promise." You grind up into him, trying to find some friction. Patrick's looking into you, blue eyes boring into yours. Part of him is worried. What if it's just the nerves? But the sick part of him is thrilled. Gloating over the spontaneity of it all. Thanking whatever higher deity allowed this to happen to him of all persons. If he were a better man he’d stop right now, get his ass redressed and take it to the nearest cvs by your house. Run-in, not bothering to look at the size or brand, let alone lock the car or park between the lines properly. Thinks about walking out and leaving a twenty dollar bill at self-checkout. But this is Patrick Zweig we’re talking about. Too enamored by your pretty face and how you say his name, begging for him to take what’s his. So he swallows any left-over guilt that lingers in the back of his throat. Undoes his jeans and takes his dick out of his underwear with ease.

“It’s supposed to hurt, y’know.” His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I know. I don’t care. Patrick, I’m yours.” Fuck, he could burst at your words. But he doesn’t. Glides the tip against your clit. Sighs at the way it slides so easily with the wetness. And you just want him to put it in but like the good boyfriend he is he wants to prep you, get used to it. It’s sudden, stinging, a different sensation when you feel him. All of him. He stays this way for a while, holding you while you adjust to his size. He rubs circles on your skin and strokes your jaw to distract you from the hurt and pressure of it all.

“This okay? Just tell me and we can stop.”

“No, Patrick. God.” His lips latch onto your neck, sucking what will be a bruise your friend will ask about the next day at school. “Please move.”

“Whatever you say.” Slow strokes pump into you. It’s tender and tantalizing and somehow life changing. This is what love is, what you too are doing. Not buying cheap cvs condoms, but pulling out after you orgasm. Asking for him in the spur of the moment because you realize this is who you see yourself with. The boy who gets jealous of your cousin for wearing a tux to some relative you can’t remember the name of’s wedding. The boy who picks you up from work and kisses you even when you’re sweaty after your shifts. The boy who asks you out on dates to mcdonald’s drive-ins only to realize he’s been doing this wrong the entire time so he swipes his dad’s credit card and takes you out to a nice restaurant. Orders spaghetti and meatballs, thinking you’re gonna eat it lady and the tramp style. The boy laying next to you right now who says it for the first time You know I love you, right? And you do.

[zweiginator]

always think about inexperienced reader not realizing patrick’s falling in love with her. they are hooking up and he is always with her and breaks it off with everyone else and does subtle things to show his loyalty to her without actually saying it. when her friends ask her about it she’s like patrick???? in love with me???? no way??? this is what he does with everyone??? he dosnt know how to communicate and she dosnt pick up the signs

yes <33 it fucking scares him how little interest he has in other girls. and then he thinks about it more and it's not even a little. it's none. all he cares about is you. all he thinks about is you too.

patrick is infamous for having at least five or six situationships at a time--if you could even call them that. he is good at shutting his feelings off. hooking up with girls and not caring if anything happens after that. in fact, he prefers that nothing happens. but girls, their feelings get hurt and they want more. they want dates, a text, calls after class.

and then patrick meets up with you. a pretty, smart girl from his class. he loves how in your own world you are. the first day of class you sat there, listening to music and doodling in your notebook as you waited for class to start. you softly hummed the tune of your music, probably because you thought you were the only one in the lecture hall.

but there patrick was, and he noticed you and didn't stop noticing you. and then he started sitting right next to you. didn't even leave a seat in between. got you to share your earbuds with him and you even let him play some of his music sometimes.

but you'd always just--leave. you never asked for patrick's number, but one day he asked for yours and you looked surprised. you gave it to him.

he texted you and you kept texting because he kept answering you faster and faster. and then he started to call you and you'd answer.

your friends started asking you who you were always on the phone with.

"patrick. a guy in one of my classes."

"is it patrick zweig?" your friend looked flabbergasted.

"yeah, why?"

"he's known for being quite the--slut."

you told her that you didn't believe that. you'd never even kissed him yet.

but then your friends told you the stories. none of them had hooked up with him, but it seemed like everyone was one or two degrees away from a girl who had. and every story had the same ending--and then he never spoke to her again.

after hearing this, you separate yourself. you still call and text but you tell yourself it isn't a big deal. you can just have fun and call it quits. except you've barely lost your virginity. you're not equipped for this.

patrick begs you to come out with him one night. you do your makeup and don't wear your glasses for once and you wear a nice top.

you don't even make it to the club; patrick tackles you into his backseat and one thing leads to another and you're scratching your nails down his back and thinking--fuck. this is how they get so attached.

at this point patrick has stopped talking to every other girl. mostly without even realizing it. he just--forgot about them.

and you start distancing yourself. one day you don't even sit by patrick. it almost makes him tear up.

he texts you that night and asks

Are you mad at me?

No, why?

You didn't sit by me in class

Oh, I'm sorry

Can i come over?

you say yes.

and your roommates yell that patrick is here and he brought you a present. a bouquet of roses with baby's breath. you blush and thank him. he eats you out on your baby pink sheets and begs you to cum for him. he wants you to just fucking let go. but it's hard for you to trust him.

weeks of him inviting you out, meeting his friends. him asking to meet yours. more flowers, he buys your favorite snacks. he drives you to class and holds your hand on the way to tennis practice.

your friends ask if you're dating him.

"no, no. we aren't. he's not into that."

they look at you, confused.

"did he say that to you?"

"no, but it's implied. with his past."

one of them sits down across from you. "it's pretty clear he loves you. this isn't apart of a scheme--like im telling you--"

your other friend interjects. "it's always him hitting a girl up at a party or something and then they fuck maybe once or twice and then he just stops talking to them. never flowers and hand holding."

"oh--i mean. we'll see."

and patrick thinks you're his girlfriend. that's what he tells art, anyway. and art congratulates him. asks patrick when he asked you to be official.

"what do you mean?"

"patrick you have to fucking ask her."

[prettygirls0nly]

Possessive - Patrick Hockstetter

Word count = 1033

• You became friends with the Bowers Gang over the summer.

• All of your friends and classmates were out of town, except, of course, the 4 boys that made the Bowers Gang. So after a couple of really boring days, you came up to them and started a conversation.  

• You were surprised to find out that after what seemed like an endless amount of weird and sexual comments they could have a normal conversation.

• The first person to warm up to you was Henry. He asked you questions about yourself and invited you to come along with them to Quarry (with the disapproving faces of his friends, of course.)

• After that day, the guys picked you up every day to bring you with them to party's or to just drive around town. Everyone seemed to be happy with the new company, except Patrick...

• You didn't talk a lot and opted to stay quiet when you were together in the backseat of Belch's car. But, when one late and drunk night you got left alone with him in a room for whatever reason, a conversation sparked between the two of you. You talked for what seemed like hours and a friendship has existed ever since that day.

• The last couple of weeks of maybe the best summer of your life flew by in what seemed like seconds.

• You were a little sad. Not only did school start again, but your friendship would probably be forgotten and you'd have to go back to your old friends.

•  But when the first day of school, the familiar blue Trans Am pulled into your driveway, you knew that this school year was going to be much different than the ones before.

• Your friendship stayed the same and lucky for you, you even shared some classes with The guys. Math, History, and English with Henry, and Chemistry with Patrick.

• Because you shared so many classes with Henry, you two grew closer. You did homework and projects together and you tutored him for Math.

• Although you spent a lot of time with Henry, you still made time for time for the others. After school, you hung out with them all at the Quarry, and every night Patrick knocked on your bedroom window. The two of you talked, and talked, and talked, for hours. And one night you both fell asleep on your bed.

• The morning after was also the moment Patrick realized that he had a crush on you. You just looked so cute. Laying there with your eyes closed, your pink lips slightly parted, and your face only inches away from his. It took him everything to not press his lips to yours, but he was a good boy and quietly climbed out of your window.

• After that morning, Patrick felt a strike of jealousy hit him every time he saw Henry put an arm around you or just touched you. Every time he saw it he just wanted to rip you out of his touch and kiss you right in front of them and show them you were his, and only his.

• So when one day he sees Henry put his arm around your waist and push you to him, he couldn't contain himself anymore. He practically ran to his friend and wrapped his hands around your arm before pulling you away from Henry.

- "What the fuck?" Henry cursed as he looked at his friend with a bitter look. Patrick, however, chooses to ignore his friend and let his eyes settle on your figure that now stood in his arms. As his eyes looked at you, you couldn't help but blush. His stare was so intense and so hungry...

"Don't let him put a finger on you again, I'm the only one that gets to touch you."

• That day after you left, Patrick shouted some words and threats at Henry and made sure that after today he'd be the only one that got touch you.

• Not long after that day Patrick gathered all his courage and went up to you.

- "Hey, Patrick!" You exclaim as Patrick climbs through your bedroom window.

"Hey, I need to talk to you." Patrick nervously scratches the back of his head and sits down on your desk chair. You sigh and quickly follow behind him before sitting down on his lap.

"If this is about Henry. He hasn't even looked at me for the last couple of days." Normally those words would've brought a smile to his face, but he was to focused on keeping down the whimper that threatened to leave his lips as he felt parts of you rubbing against him that he had never felt before. "Patrick?" You say and put a hand on his cheek. "You still there?" Patrick snapped out of his trance and looked at you. God, why did you need to look so beautiful?

"Y-yeah, I just need to tell you something." You nod and Patrick takes a final breath. "I like you, Y/N. And I want you to be mine."

You smile as you listened to his words. You already knew he liked, you were kinda just waiting for him to confess. And now that you hear his slightly nervous confession, you can't help but feel a little happy. As you thought about your answer, Patrick looked at you with nervous eyes. Did he just fuck it up?

After a couple of seconds, you looked into his eyes and cupped his cheeks. "I think I'd like to be yours, Patrick." As you finish your sentence you lean and let your lips collide in a gentle kiss.